Hellbound Heart
by Maxwell Lily
Summary: Karma didn't believe in regret, he believed in moving forward. He would be too stupid to forget the past, but he had honored him, hadn't he? He had done what he had wished for, hadn't he? In which red wins over blue, the moon smiles like the Cheshire Cat, and Little Red Riding Hood kills wolves in the dark. [KaruNagi] [spoilers up to chapter 144.]


_Part of him died that day._

Nagisa still wouldn't look him in the eye, but he held the knife firmly in his hand, as he ought to do. The bet had been placed, and he had lost, and they all learned to go through with their plans, go through to the end, whatever they had chosen to do. Karma felt a bitterness in his mouth without biting his tongue or lips; he was calm, collected, composed. The two weren't alone, no, everyone was there, no matter what mixed feelings and second thoughts. Right through the heart, as they had been taught. Right through the heart.

Done.

 _Nobody was surprised when Yanagisawa turned up dead a week later._

Karma had no trouble taking the parcel of the money that was his by right. Built his name and paved his way, just like _he_ would want him to do. To succeed and prosper and achieve his dreams, beating others with his wits, not his fists. Never working alone, _fighting_ alone in the world of adulthood, because those days hadn't been for nothing, all the assassination, tricks and plots. He had learned, was _still_ learning, because if everyone else in this planet was limited after that day, then so was he. They were only human. Fragmented, like the moon.

He had no regrets.

Had no regrets when he sneaked into Nagisa's room one odd night when they were sixteen, all his emotions still raw under his skin, under the fingertips that laced in silky blue hair and forced that willing mouth into his. Nagisa was still lost in a conundrum of his own making, but he was willing, yes, and exercised all the practicality of Irina Jelavić's lessons.

Had no regrets when, day after day in his life, Nagisa would smile a smile that didn't reach his eyes when he talked about his day and barely concealed his secret; a secret that Karma knew stained those beloved hands red, but still Nagisa would smile, like Little Red Riding Hood pretending she didn't kill the wolf herself. And although they both knew his talents could do so much more, so much more like _he_ would have wanted, Nagisa couldn't avoid it, because the moon would smile at him like the Cheshire Cat, urging him into the dark.

Karma didn't believe in regret, he believed in moving forward. He would be too stupid to forget the past, but _he had honored him, hadn't he? He had done what he had wished for, hadn't he?_ Rhetorical questions. Not one sleepless night.

Death comes to us all.

But sometimes... Sometimes when the Cheshire moon was up in the sky and their bodies, breath and hearts moved in sync, when pale hands moved up to his neck and that beloved voice spoke his name, he could feel the coldness of the snake encircling him, despite the passion, or _in spite_ of the passion, squeezing a bit too tight, imprinting its mark on him, reminding him that it would never forget, never forgive. For a split second he was _sure_ revenge would be served, sure that those eyes were cold as on that day, full of betrayal and bloodlust. A split second and it was gone, Nagisa's hands moved, his lips parted and called him, over and over again.

After they made love in the dark, with the moon as their witness, Nagisa would hold him close, cradling his head close to his heart as if comforting him, protecting him, and Karma would wonder if it wasn't all in his head after all. A paranoia rooted deep in his subconscious, telling him that all that love was hate, a hate he thought he deserved. Guilt. Self-hatred. Despair. Nagisa ran his hands through Karma's hair like he was a child, or fragile, or broken. Karma would breathe in and out, taking in his scent. After a while he would fall asleep and tomorrow would come, as it always did.

 _He has no heart to be broken anymore._ Hadn't had since the day he beat Nagisa, the day he had waited to be proven wrong, to be stopped. Nagisa had put up a fight, as he always would, always will. Nagisa who would never forgive him. Nagisa who could kill him if he wanted to; he wouldn't even be surprised.

Isn't that what gods of death do? Hold your life within their grasp? Might as well be the heart.

Might as well be the heart.

* * *

Title inspired by the Clive Barker novel by the same name. I do not claim this originality.


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